JaimexBart: Christmas
by xTammyVx
Summary: It's Bart's first Christmas in the twenty-first century, and he's more than ready to have all the experiences involved! -Details at top of fic-


**Pairings:**  
JaimexBart

**Summary:**  
It's Bart's first Christmas in the twenty-first century, and he's more than ready to have all the experiences involved!

**Rating:**  
K+, with a reference or two to snogging and the use of the word "crap".

**Multi-chapter?**  
No.

**Word count:**  
1,487

**AN:**  
For the deviantART Jamie-X-Bart group's 2012 Christmas contest!

Don't be afraid to leave a comment! It gives me a little thrill when I see [New Review] in my emails :3

* * *

Jaime was not getting his picture taken. He could put up with the rest – the baubles, the tacky tree, the never-ending smiling, and the general Christmas cheese. Wasn't that _enough_? His mother never made him do this kind of crap, and this would admittedly be the first time in over a decade that he'd had to buy someone a present for the twenty-fifth of December.

There was no way he would allow a photo floating around of himself looking like _this_.

"Ay, Jaime, you look like such a loser!" he could hear his sister cackling, their aunt biting her lip to keep a burst of giggles contained.

As for his friends – well, the flush on his cheeks proved that he didn't even want to _think_ about what they'd say.

But the smile on that face, as cheesy as it sounded, when he (finally) left his bedroom made his insides turn into something pretty similar to the drinks in Bart's hands. His big grin held not a single dash of smugness, only warm adoration, and once he pried his gaze away from the giant white snowflake, all the blood went straight to Jaime's blushing face.

"Does it fit?" the redhead asked eagerly.

Okay, so the armpits were a little itchy, the neckline was too close to his throat for comfort, and the wrists were going to scrape him raw. Despite this and more, Jaime couldn't have brought himself to tell Bart the truth even if he'd _wanted_ to, so with a nod, he replied, "Sure does – lucky me."

There was no twitch in Bart at the sarcastic flick, though. He stared some more and chewed on his lip in the pure excitement that was one vibration off of an explosion.

Fidgeting from beneath the intensity of Bart's glee, Jaime inhaled the far-away scent of chocolate.

"Can I have that?" he asked, reaching for the blue mug. He could only assume, since Bart had such an obsession with matching their cups and plates to their vigilante personas.

It was a half-assed attempt at hiding his sheepish expression, cheeks a subtle, sweet pink that looked far more innocent than Jaime thought was possible. This was nothing, however, in comparison to the horrendous red wool Bart had chosen to make Jaime's new Christmas sweater from, along with some green that was a tad too far on the yellow-tinged side to be considered a pine-tree tone.

And the snowflake. That final touch that Bart was ridiculously proud of was bright enough to light up a room (or clear it). It was by far the most embarrassing thing Jaime had _ever_ allowed on his chest, _no_ competition. It had taken him so long though—a full two minutes—not to mention the copious amounts of patience, rare in Bart like a smile from Red Arrow. The Scarab may not like it, and Jaime definitely wasn't crazy for the garment, but it was made with love by his boyfriend and that was reason enough to put up with the whole thing.

_The fabric is rough. Wearing it on your person will certainly cause irritation. Remove, remove._

Sometimes Jaime wished he was flexible enough to elbow the stupid—_Not stupid – artificial intelligence coupled with physical abilities far beyond that of any mammal prove sufficient during battle_—machinery on his spine.

Pompom bouncing as he rushed forward, the grin on Bart's face did not wane in the slightest. Reacting to the sudden movement, Kahji panicked, but Jaime was determined to teach it that, no, the Scarab could _not_ do what it damn-well pleased, especially if it involved harming anyone.

Harming Bart.

Bart, who tugged the hem down and adjusted his creation, unaware of the dribble of hot liquid that had sloshed over the rim in his dash. Jaime distracted him from the item of clothing by pointing out said dribble. Without so much as a glance, the redhead licked it from his fingers and dragged Jaime though to the living room.

"So, we've got the home-made sweaters, what's next on my list?" Bart asked in delight, scooping up the paper. "Ooh, my favourite one! Cartoons!"

Ah, finally something that lacked a need for effort. Tuesday mornings spent in front of the TV were not uncommon in the Reyes household, and were apparently not shunned in the Garrick household, either, even on Christmas day.

Christmas special after Christmas special rolled onto the screen. Jaime recognized most of them, but his laughter shot through despite it, because Bart found them so hilarious he was near tears.

And if he had to pick his favourite thing about Bart, it was his laugh. The way his eyes would crinkle at the outer corners, brows pinching together, his mouth an open grin. If you _really_ got him going, he would throw his head back and howl to the ceiling until his lower lashes were damp. Sometimes Bart would snap his gaze at Jaime—"Did you see that? The mouse totally just _owned_ Tom!"—and Jaime would flush a colour that he _really_ didn't want to flush. A smile appeared even over the fiery burn of embarrassment. Had he been watching?

Yes.

Had he been watching _the TV_?

Not exactly.

A bear wearing a suit told the boys that the Christmas Special cartoons were over, but to come back at six in the evening to watch _Arthur Christmas_. Bart wrote that down.

"Alright," he murmured to himself. "Done that, done that... Oh, here we go!" He jumped to his feet. "There's another thing I want to try."

With that, Jaime's hand was firmly in Bart's, yanking him from his warm spot on the sofa and leaving barely enough reaction time for the mug of now-cold chocolate drink to be set down. Thankfully he did not miss the surface of the beautifully-crafted table, but the dangerous _clunk_ rang in his ears.

Not even a minute later and it was blood roaring in them instead. That uncomfortably-familiar feeling scorched his face as he was brought to a halt in the doorway, and Jaime did not _dare_ cast his eyes to the top of the frame.

"What was that thing you wanted to try, Bart?" he asked, voice hiking up at his boyfriend's name.

One corner of Bart's mouth cocked, matching the brow that lowered in some kind of a teasingly-seductive smirk. Jaime's shoulders bunched up in his shyness.

"Pretty last-minute, but I found it easily enough," Bart shrugged. "Blutacking it there was probably the hardest part of my ordeal."

Jaime's gaze flickered up. He knew it was nothing to get overly nervous about (not that his heart knew that, judging by its pulsing that was practically the definition of erratic) because it was just _kissing_, and it wasn't like they hadn't done it _before_.

Somehow (blame it on the Christmas spirit and the scent of fruitcake) Jaime knew this was _way_ different from the steamy make-out sessions he and the speedster shared. This would be special – Bart's _first Christmas kiss_. Oh, the pressure, the pressure...

"Well, are we going to just rock back and forth on our heels, or are we going to get on with it?"

Jaime just smiled. Bart returned it, hands finding Jaime's beltloops, his bottom lip pinned between his teeth. With one final moment for Bart's eyes to dart to the mistletoe and for Jaime to psyche himself up, the two gravitated towards each other.

They met halfway, and Jaime's mouth already scantly opened. Bart pressed his lips against Jaime's before he drew back (though barely). Bart's eyelashes were drooped low as he leaned in again, parting his lips as he felt Jaime's fingers dig into the small of his back, silently urging him on. Responding, Bart held Jaime's face in his hands, jaw resting in his palms, and turned his head, giving them both a better angle to work with. The tip of Jaime's tongue brushed the bumpy, sensitive area behind Bart's top teeth when he got the chance to do so without straining. Bart froze and gave a full-body shudder, then ended their kiss.

"Oh, sorry," Jaime heard himself huskily splutter.

Bart's eyes widened. "_Sorry_? For what? That was crash!"

Jaime's grin came back. It was okay. It was just Bart, just a kiss. He hadn't stuffed up.

"In that case, merry Christmas," he laughed.

With a coy wiggle of his hips, Bart snickered. "Okay, it was good, but that'd better not be the only thing you got me."

"I guess it's time to move onto _my_ favourite part of Christmas. None of that family's-all-that-matters stuff – I used up, like, _hours_ of my life looking for your present, so if yours sucks then I'm going to keep them _both_," warned Jaime.

Bart tilted his chin up proudly. "No danger of that," he said matter-of-factly. "But, uh, if you don't mind-" He leant his pale forehead against Jaime's. "-I'd like to get to know _this_ tradition a little better."


End file.
